


Let's talk about sex

by Jane_Bond



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 14:36:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jane_Bond/pseuds/Jane_Bond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What makes you think once you have tried this " Emma pointed at herself, a feat of mechanics and equilibrium, balancing her hot coffee cup, a bear claw and narrowly avoiding sugaring her cascade of blond hair. " you will ever want to give it up?"<br/>Complete</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Fear is the cheapest room in the house. I wish I could see you in better accommodation."   
Hafiz of Persia  


**Chapter 1**  


Emma was not a high concept girl, but she knew lie from truth. And Regina's put togetherness was a lie. All that control was a lie. Regina was lying to herself. Home arrest had removed any control Regina had over her life. The pettiness of the punishment dictated it, deliberately cruel, removing from the former Mayor even the grocery list choices. It was, to Emma's mind, cruel and unusual punishment, though she wasn't quite sure why she should be so offended by the choices the victims had made. But it was somewhat tragic to see the woman so deeply bereft of control over her fate that she controlled whatever possible in her environment: her routine. And this Emma knew because she was paying attention. Regina was her sore thumb in a world of happy ever afters.  
It was second nature to Emma to notice the details. That was, after all, her greatest asset as a bail bonds person- she sniffed out the odd like a cocker spaniel sniffs out foxes. And Regina's day did not have a single oddity to it: she got up at 6am. Not one minute more, not one minute less. The lights were on instantly, no need for those minutes to get yourself acquainted with the light, no instinct to curl under the comforter and postpone the day. She did whatever morning routine she had and the lights in the kitchen would be on at 6.34. Precisely. Not one minute more, not one minute less. She would sit for breakfast 11 minutes afterwards, in her study. Emma knew because she could see the outline of the body in that room from her position outside the property. And to Emma's mind, that lack of oddity was the oddest thing she'd ever seen.  
It would have been pathetic that spying- stalking, honestly- if she hadn't told herself that she was just making sure that Regina had not figured out a way to trick them. For the first few weeks, she was, she told herself, simply making sure the prisoner remained a prisoner. She was the Sheriff and that was the job.  
But then she'd given in and knocked on the white imposing door. Making sure she there was nothing untoward and all that jazz. It was not a bad lie. She could believe it if she wanted to. When Regina opened the door, she looked radiant. Her skin was polished to a shine, her makeup irreproachable, her clothes neat as pin as if she had stepped out of a cross between _Stepford Weekly_ and _Forbes_. But Emma smelled the lie like a cocker Spaniel would smell a fox. She saw the empty eyes and the built in sadness.  
"Miss Mills" She didn't quite know what to call the other woman. _Regina_? Not really, she did not have the right. _Madam Mayor_ was inappropriate. _Your Highness_? It sounded cruel even to her own ears. Her self-conscious hands found refuge in her pockets. "Just checking up on you." Regina looked mildly put upon.  
"Everything is just fine, Sheriff." She tried to close the door. Emma pushed back.  
"Just checking if you need anything. You know…" She stuttered then. What could she offer that was not outside the terms of the punishment?  
"Sheriff, I have work to do. If you don't mind, I really need to get back to it." Aaaaaaaand another lie.  
"Miss Mills…. Ah crap, I'm going to call you Regina, Ok, because this is just too weird…. Look…" She struggled for a lie that did not sound so much like one. "I need to check the property. Make sure there is nothing funny going on. I can get a warrant if you insist, though…"  
"From whom? Your _mother_?" The words bit but the door opened. _Total abuse of power_. Maybe the ends justified the means, sometimes, Emma reasoned with her guilty conscience.  
As she moved into the foyer she was struck by the smell. Cleanliness. Everything smelled of ruthlessly clean. Everything sparkled as much as Regina's skin. And yet, it all felt as sad as the woman's eyes, just as empty. Just as joy deprived. And equally under control. To the last dust particle. After that, the house tour was perfunctory. Emma's attempts at conversation were met with a stony silence, each new sentence met with a stubborn refusal to talk. And yet, Regina smiled, as if she was hell bent on proving Storybrooke wrong, that they had not broken her, that she was thriving. That they could not reduce her to misery.  
It was a tragic smile, all teeth and dimples, but that did not reach the eyes. It was a smile that lacked even the gumption of Regina's scheming days. Emma would give her right pinkie finger for even a self-satisfied smirk from the former mayor because with each step into the house, the guilt weighed heavier in her gut.  
"Kids giving you any trouble these days?" Regina did not make an effort to reply. She was growing unaccustomed to anyone else's presence. In her mind she had answered. Emma replied for her. "No? That's good. We've been having some graffiti incidents. Those Lost Boys haven't found their way to Neverland... Would hate for your white walls to be damaged." Christ, it was a painful conversation, awkward, full of pauses. "So… it looks like everything is OK. I should just mosey on." Regina looked relieved and Emma could not help it but to impose just to prod a little bit further, to push just one more button. "Maybe you would invite me for a cup of coffee."  
Regina's head snapped up and was it panic that Emma saw? "Sheriff, I would hope you're quite satisfied with your search. I do have a day to go on with and it would be appreciated if I were allowed to get on with it."  
"Well, so much for manners, huh? I mean usually, when someone comes calling, it is only polite to offer a drink, a seat."  
"I hardly think that_"  
"Throw a girl a bone, Regina. This is the one place my _mother_ won't come to check on me." She felt a little guilty over the ruse, over getting Snow into the mix, but it was the one thing guaranteed to get a reaction from Regina. And it wasn't exactly a lie. Loving parents came with a very specific set of problems to match their very particular frame of mind.  
"I made iced tea."  
Emma jumped on the offer like a drowning man on a plank of wood. "Proper homemade…"  
"Is there any other kind." Regina deadpanned.  
"Sure. The powdered ones, the bottled ones, the vending machine ones…" Regina poured what could be considered a stingy glass, most likely to reduce the time it would take to consume it. But Emma would not be deterred. Between ragging on over the violence that had descended on Storybrooke since the curse had broken and rehashing her skirmishes with Henry's teeth brushing habits, she managed to get a second glass of ice tea out of Regina. It was a half hour fraught with conversational landmines and most of them went by the name Henry. It clearly caused Regina extreme discomfort to talk about her son. It was one of those things Emma had guessed correctly about the woman: she wore her wounds on the inside and they were festering.  
"I'm sure you are doing your best." Emma detected some derision in the tone but it was in her nature to offer solace when solace was needed. And a mean Regina was a less broken Regina, so she decided to take that one on the chin.  
"The kid loves you, Regina. He misses you."  
"We both know that that is not true. Now, if you have finally finished with the tea, maybe you could let me get on with my day."  
~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~  
Regina needed Emma out of her house desperately. She did not want to get used to company and she did not want to talk about Henry. She needed to get back to work. She needed… her day was getting delayed. She needed physical work, desperately. She should go and do… something, anything, because thinking about Henry well, that hurt just too much.  
"Come on Regina, the kid walks by every day to see you." Regina's chest froze mid breath. It hurt to breathe as it did during the winter. Her hands shook so she put the pitcher of tea on the marble surface trying hard to control the involuntary motion.  
"Miss Swan, that is deliberately cruel and coming here just for that is_"  
"See for yourself. Tomorrow on his way to school." Emma rinsed the glass and walked out, giving Regina time. But there was nothing but silence. Had she turned, she would have seen the solitary tear that fell before Regina furiously wiped at it.  
This would not do. She would have to stop Emma Swan invading her house. Her day, her precious routine specifically designed to make very little go a very long way was blow apart, a hole of nearly 45 minutes. She needed to get going with her routine, because it was that routine that kept her from losing her ever loving mind.  
Wash, scrub, read, cook, eat, wash, scrub, read. Sleep. Or pretend to sleep.  
~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~  
Her lights were on at 6 o'clock promptly. She pushed the covers back and carried out her morning with religious fervour. While she brushed her teeth 30 times in each direction, 30 times the upper teeth, 30 times the lower teeth she did not have to miss waking Henry up and getting him ready for school. While she worked her day cream in 25 counter-clockwise circles, she did not have to miss checking that Henry was putting on the clothes that she had selected for him the previous day. And while she rubbed in her foot lotion in ascending motion, she would not- there was no time for it- miss how she would sneak up on Henry to make sure he had brushed his rebellious hair and run her fingers through it to flatten the spiky wisps as he ducked to escape her.  
By the time she walked into her kitchen (at precisely 6.34 according to Emma's watch, though this was a detail Regina did not know) she would have almost entirely successfully avoided missing the morning routine with her child.  
She took her morning coffee, her bowl of fruit and toast- that she would leave nearly untouched- into her study where she would stay until the next pitfall. The 6.40, when Henry would have come storming down the stairs to sit in the kitchen with his breakfast cereal. It was important that she avoided the kitchen with its breakfast bar at all costs, the comic books Henry so enjoyed as good as there every morning. She would walk to the door and take the newspaper that the delivery boy would toss with remarkable accuracy to her front step and that would give her just enough time to slink back into the kitchen, avoiding the hallway where Henry would have been struggling with his shoes and his coat and his book bag.  
Her day was planed to the minute, though she could deny- convincingly- even to herself that she was running from where she could cross paths with the absence of her child. Her life was governed by loss of everything she held dear.  
She scanned the newspaper, carefully avoiding the meatier sections which she would save for a post lunch activity. In the morning she savoured the gossip, the fashion, the obituary and even, because she had not lost her taste for irony, the realtor's section.  
And yet, though her hands shook and her feet seemed to disobey a direct order from her brain, she walked to the window in her bedroom to see, for herself, that Emma was lying. She would prove the Sheriff wrong. She stood behind the curtain telling herself _move along, there is nothing to see here_. But at 7.43, Henry walked by. He slowed his walk, his small shoulders hunching a little, the toe of his boot scratching at the pavement as if he had half a mind to do something and couldn't quite commit to it. He moved on. He took one look at his wrist watch and walked on to school.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had forgotten to upload the rest of this story on this site. So very sorry for the oversight...

**Chapter 2**

Regina did not quite recoup those 8 minutes she had waited for Henry. She polished the wooden floors in the dining room to a high shine as she did every Tuesday at 7.40 (which was how she avoided the time she should have been getting Henry into the car parked in the driveway. She still did the same 450 steps with the polishing shoes in each direction as she did every other Tuesday simply because she could not quite think of what else to do. But she finished late. And there was a little panic because for a moment, because she could not decide what she could possibly do to avoid the hour she used to have set aside to go over planning issues before the Tuesday’s planning meeting at the Town Hall.

The few minutes of panic were sufficient to step into pace with the lunch routine: cooking, setting a lonely table and then leaving most of her food on her plate because the one thing she couldn’t yet force into a routine was her stomach.

When Emma knocked on her door at 4.17 in the afternoon, she wanted to ignore her, because she was in the middle of the crossword (big bold characters that refused to fit inside the small squares) which she had taken to fill in with her fountain pen for an extra challenge. But the doorbell rang absurdly loud in an empty house and Regina felt that it would be better to answer than to hear that echo for one more second.

When she opened the door a crack, Emma pushed it open, mad curls flying around her like a banner of valour.

“Miss Swan! Twice in two days! I assure you I have not yet managed to finalise my escape plans.” Suddenly, she filled up her skin. It didn’t hang slack from her frame.

“Very funny!” And she pulled Henry’s monogrammed coat into full view. “It’s torn.” And she motioned the coat for Regina to take it. “Obviously, I don’t know how to fix it.” “I thought they taught needle work on your first day in prison.” “Nope, that was lock picking 101” Emma snapped back. “Look, the kid says you can fix it. Can you fix it?”

Emma turned on her heels, letting Regina inspect the garment and noticing the unnatural shine of the wood on the banister and the German precision flower arrangement in the vase. She had to look away. She did not want to be looking at Regina if - or when- the woman were to figure out that she had ripped the coat’s sleeve herself for lack of better excuse to come and check on Regina.

“Yes, I can fix it.” Henry had mentioned her. He had said that she could fix it. She pulled the coat to her chest and held it there. She was going to open the door and show the Sheriff out but Emma was quicker.

“Can I hide here for ten more minutes?”

Regina did not take it as lifeline that it was. She took it as a slight on Snow because she needed at least a little of the status quo to remain unchanged. She ostensively moved to let Emma into the house.

“You wouldn’t have some of that ice tea left, would you?” Regina had actually made a fresh one, though she only ever made iced tea on Mondays. She thought to herself that she must have gotten confused with the calendar. She would have to pay better attention.

“In the kitchen.”

**~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~**

Regina was fascinating to watch. She moved with the grace of a panther, ready to pounce and call you dinner. And she had the claws to go with it. Emma studied her from her expensive shoes to her now longer hair. It suited her. It softened her expression, made her look more vulnerable. It made Emma want to run her fingers through that hair. _Oh!_

“Do you like what you see, Sheriff Swan? Regina questioned, confronted really, because she wanted to be in charge of this. She wanted to be in charge of something. Anything. Anything at all. The Sheriff’s gaze was too reminiscent of someone watching a tiger in a cage at a zoo. With pity.

“I do”

**~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~**

When Regina lay awake that night, her thoughts were a jumble of emma swans. Emma Swan giving her an appreciative look. Emma Swan telling her that _I do_ with a hungry gaze. Emma Swan bringing her her son back through a torn coat and a _walks-past-her-window-on-the-way-to-school-Henry_. The Emma Swan that had taken her child away.

And then it all started again with getting up at 6 precisely- without so much as need for an alarm clock because she did not sleep.

**~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~**

It was taking its toll on Henry’s wardrobe, all the days of torn pieces she took for Regina to fix. She would have come up with a better excuse. The one day she decided to skip it cold turkey as you do a bad addiction, Henry presented her with one more torn piece, a knowing-slash-hopeful smile that had no place in such a young face and that was the mirror of her own. She took it as a sign.

**~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~**

Emma purchased two bear claws and all but sauntered to what was still known as the Mayor’s House, though Storybrook had now a queen. She had not slept a wink until the sun was already tickling the sky pink. Yes, she did like what she saw (every day, lately). Regina was, quite possibly, the most sexual being she had ever encountered in her whole life. And she had met a few. She liked that very much. She liked the unabashed sexuality of the woman, the challenge in it.

Of course, the counterpoint to that attraction was something she couldn’t quite define and correlated directly with the vulnerability Regina insisted on hiding, and, more so these days, the apparent fragility of her body. She had lost weight- too much really- and her skin was almost translucent, paper thin. And, she was willing to bet, there were bags under that carefully applied eye makeup.

All the little lies Regina used to make a point that house arrest was no punishment, Emma knew them all for what they were and saw right through them. And it was that, that seeing right through the lies that put the spring in her step. She had finally slept when she had come to terms with her decision. Which she was now on her way to execute like a carefully planned project. Or as carefully as she could muster, queen of the fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants that she was. But she had fallen asleep as soon as she’d made her peace with the fact that she had said the truth when she had told Regina _I do._

**~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~**

Regina considered briefly simply not answering the door. She considered it because these visits by the Sheriff left her on edge, torn between something she had come to desire and something she needed at all costs to avoid: believing there was still something good for her. The Sheriff was nothing if not insistent.

Regina put away the gardening gloves and stepped out of her gardening shoes with deliberate care, taking just a few seconds extra to annoy the Sheriff. She composed her hair on her way to the front door. Perception is everything.

“Sheriff!” The tone alone was as good as a _what the hell_ but the eyes told a different story.

“Peace” Emma protested handing Regina the sweet smelling box with the pastries.

“Sure. What else spells _peace_ as effectively as deep fried complex carbohydrates?”

“Hey! You could use some endorphins in your blood stream. And since you’re not getting _any_ these days, you could do worse than the fat/sugar combination.” _God knows I do_ Emma mumbled only loud enough to be able to deny it.

As expected, Regina did hear and it threw her off. In her many hours of studying Regina, Emma had found that if you need results, you need to catch Regina off guard. And she used the brief moment when Regina was still paralyzed with the box in her hand to move past her.

“OK, I really could use some caffeine with that. I’m not even going to cry about the new caffeine rules back at chez Snow. It is just too humiliating.”

“I thought you were cocoa people.”

“I need my coffee, OK? I get a tad irritable when I don’t get my fix. Do you think you can hook me up with some without the side of snark?” She plopped herself down on the breakfast bar holding on to the box of pastries Regina had set down there. It was mesmerising, the way Regina moved, the way a little of her perfume permeated Emma’s senses.

“You are looking yet again, Ms Swan!” Regina said without so much as turning to confirm the truth of the statement.

“No, I’m _staring_ yet again. It’s a pleasant view.” Regina had banked on embarrassing Emma, but she was the one stuck, her tongue growing thick in her mouth. She remained transfixed by the coffee slowly setting inside the French press.

Emma moved softly, slowly until she stood behind Regina, almost but not quite touching. “Unless you prefer I didn’t”. When she spoke, her voice was gravely and it resonated through the shell of Regina’s ear, through her cheek, through her whole body. It was a caress.

Regina felt she was losing ground and fast. And that would not do. And there was only one way to deal with it: up the ante. “You are welcome to look, Sheriff. I’m sure Storybrooke is slim pickings for someone as worldly as yourself, but I’m not going to have sex with you.” Oh, Ok, flirtation. It had not been what she expected, but she could work with this. She was adaptable.

“Now you hurt my feelings!” Regina could hear the smile on Emma’s voice even if she lacked the courage to turn and face her. Besides, having her there, snug against her back, was a surprisingly good fit.

“No I haven’t. I like sex but_”

“See, so much common ground.” Emma interrupted. “This keeps up and we’re going to be friends soon.”

“Perish the thought. Why did you interrupt me?”

“My words exactly. And because I have no manners.”

“If I wanted friends, I’d join a book club. Did no one ever teach you manners?”

“Two words: house arrest. And no. No mom, remember?”

It smarted like a slap. Of course it did. Not that she would ever admit it. As far as the world was concerned, she was heartless. “There is always the internet. Serves so many purposes: manners, book clubs and even sex.”

“Again with the common ground. Though I like it better in person. More personable, I think.”

“Yes. Sex is more pleasurable in the flesh. I think you find me attractive on some level…”

“All of them, actually.”

“I don’t blame you. And that’s why you brought your deep fried complex carbohydrates. But I’m not going to have sex with you.”

Ah, but she would. Emma was nothing if not dogged in her pursuits. She did not lack staying power on that front. “So you say. Is it just because we have not yet shared a bear claw? Or are you more partial to wine?”

Regina laughed despite her frazzled nerves. This conversation was getting out of hand. Ridiculous. She did not discuss sex with such lightness. Sex was all about power. What Emma Swan was proposing was more like a lightheaded past time. And Regina did not do sex – did not know how to do sex- that was not about power. And still… Emma was sitting in her kitchen, discussing sex as if they were talking about the weather in Mexico. It was unnerving, unsettling. Fun. Exciting. Despite herself, her lips curved into a smile. She tried being discreet about it since it could not be helped.

“Jesus, Regina was that a smile?” It seemed that she had failed.

“A grimace.”

“Oh look at that: now you made a joke. I bet we will be so compatible.”

“I do not value sense of humour in _potential_ sexual partners.”

“I do.” Emma was feeling giddy. She could actually see Regina crumbling like sand under her relentless pressure. She could see her growing back into the woman she had been. And that was strangely arousing. When had she become so articulated? (Or so interested) “Is that the only entry in the cons list?”

Regina poured the coffee, nervously reaching out for something to do with her hands. The coffee could probably use a few more minutes infusing (she was beyond paying attention to it), but it was either serve it or run. And Regina Mills did not run. She made people run.

“No. Have you just met me? For one, top of the list, _if_ we were to have sex, how would I avoid you afterwards? You’re all over this town and I cannot leave.”

“What makes you think once you have tried this_” Emma pointed at herself, a feat of mechanics and equilibrium, balancing her hot coffee cup, a bear claw and narrowly avoiding sugaring her cascade of blond hair. “_you will _ever_ want to give it up?”

“Not me. You. People always leave.” She bit the inside of her cheek. The filter her mother had painstakingly fitted her with seemed to be broken when it came to Emma Swan.

“You are fucking fascinating, Regina.”

It did not feel like Emma was mocking her for some reason. It also felt like she should soothe the sting of rejection. Because it was rejection. That was a pep talk she would have to have with herself later, but it was important to nip it in the bud sooner rather than later. No sex. No sex with Emma Swan. No. No, no, no. “I do like the symmetry of your features…”

“And yet, not sex for me.”

It was infuriating how off balance Emma threw her. She bit into the pastry. And oh, gods, it was surprisingly good. “I’m sure you have other options.”

“True. I mean, Leroy cannot seem to stop propositioning me.”

“Grumpy. You _are_ attractive… Smart. A princess.”

“I have a sword.”

She did. A sword she had used to save Henry. The same sword she had used to defend her when she would have most certainly been killed by a mob. “You have a sword.”

“And yet, I want to have sex with you, not Leroy. But I understand you are fairly traditional. And that you will not have sex with me until our second date. At least.”

A _date_. A _DATE_. “I’m pretty safe, then.” A date was something of this world. Something that people did in films and in books. Where she came from, you were thrown into arranged marriages or you sneaked around behind you mother’s back. None with most excellent results.

“Why?” “Two words: House arrest.” Did Emma ever give up?

“Huh. See you tomorrow, then.”

_What?_ “You’re going?” Where was the dogged determination then? Had she screwed this up already? Oh, wait, this was what she wanted. Right?

“Yep. I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll bring the wine.”

“Wine?” She was getting tired of feeling one step behind in all this conversation. It was surreal.

“What’s a date without wine?”

“Date?” Her mind was like a scratched record, stuck on the same squeaky note on a loop. _Date_? “Stopping repeating. A date. Second date, more specifically. Might even get me to third base. If I play my cards right.”

“Second? What happened to the first?”

“Now that hurts. We had deep fried complex carbohydrates and coffee. We talked. I snuggled- well, almost. Look it up. Old Mr Webster’s definition of _date_ : entertainment, affection and conversation. No harm in a goodbye kiss, either. Part of the definition.”

Regina saw it coming, that kiss. She saw the way Emma’s head tilted to hers, she saw the intent shinning on the now intensely blue eyes. She felt Emma’s breath on her face, that split second before Emma’s lips connected with the corner of her mouth. She saw it all coming but was powerless to step back, was incapable of refusing. Instead, she simply stood there, having an out of body experience as Emma’s mouth slowly- so dam slowly- left a trail of tiny little touches between the corner of her mouth to her upper lip and then finally settled on her parted lips, teasing a response, giving her time to refuse or run. She settled there and coaxed a breathy sigh and then a tentative tongue to come and taste her. She saw it all coming, she was survival-bent on having no part on this. And yet, here she was, her hand moving to hold on to Emma’s hip (the first solid thing she could feel) and her heart hammering, her tongue wanting more of that sweetness Emma was offering. Here she was with her body reacting so strongly to just one kiss that she could barely stand straight.

“Wow…”

 


	3. Chapter 3Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

She was used to panic. She was, after all, a control freak without any control over her life. Or death. Or anything in between. Panic was what she had. Panic and all the little things she filled her day with to avoid giving into it. With an effort of intelligence, she thought back to her to do list. To her carefully, ruthlessly organised day. She tried to think back to what she should be doing, to what she had left undone, because that was all the control she had left. She tried. She had to… the weeding. She had the weeding to do. No that was Fridays. Every other Friday. She had the dishes. Surely there were dishes to be done. Or the crosswords. In ink. There had to be something.

She would do it. In a minute she would do it. Once she could get up from the second step on the stairs and move. Once she got herself under control and stopped these ridiculous tears because what was the point of that? What was the point of that hand still cupping her lips?

**~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~**

Emma did not run all the way to her car. No, she was grown up about it. She walked to it and did not even fumble with the key. Not a thing. Totally in control, totally grown up. But as soon as she turned into Main, right after she passed the traffic lights, she let out a yell of triumph, an almost howl, her hands hit the steering wheel high fiving it for lack of a better option.

**~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~**

Leroy was drunk. Again. Snow was pre-menstrual. Again. James cried on her shoulder. Again. Henry was his sullen cute self. Again. And then a bunch of half-wit Neverland kids go and trample on her very last nerve. _The. Very. Last. One._ Because it is fun to TP a house outside Halloween. Because it is ridiculously cute to annoy some old man that just won’t let go, just won’t shut up about his precious tree all tp’ed and threatening said half-wit kids with his metal hook. Because it is cute to not fucking grow up. Because it was cute to try reasoning with the patience killing half-wits and get herself cut with the metal implement for her efforts. Fairy tales, even if she was not living in the debris of the collectors’ edition, were not cute. People should quit telling them to kids. Disney should find another source of revenue. They were all mad. Starting with her own mother again on the phone, reasonably going on and on about dinner and James and homework when the only thing she wanted was to be unreasonable.

Fairy tale characters were just downright nasty.

**~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~**

“Here!” Henry carefully placed a bunch of daisies on her cluttered desk.

“I thought you’d said roses…”

“Mr French said they were _fresh out_.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Daisies are good flowers, Henry.”

“Maybe… but not special.” He kicked an imaginary stone, the sulk full on. “You should take special flowers.”

_Yeah… Shit._ She measured the daisies. They looked ok, but the kid said they were not special enough. What the hell did she know? She was not the kind that got flowers- daisies or any other kind. She stuffed her hands in her pockets, leaned back and sulked. “Better forget about the flowers.”

“No! Emma…” He seemed to be reaching out for his last shred of patience. “You need the flowers. It’s tradition…”

“Kid, that ship has sailed… I don’t suppose you brought the wine.”

“Emma, I’m underage…”

**~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~**

She wanted a shower and fresh underwear, but more likely than not, Snow would make it an issue, her going out, leaving Henry, leaving them. It was great having a mom. It really was. It was great having someone worry about her all the time. She had never had that before. But maybe because of that, she could not quite deal with it after the day she’d just had. Her side hurt like a bitch where the moustached idiot had almost carved her and her nerves were frazzled. Frankly, had she not told Regina in no uncertain terms she would be there, she would just probably walk into a bar until the only option was to crawl home. She was feeling a little mean, a little pissed.

When she knocked at the white door, she was greeted by Regina almost instantaneously. As if the woman had been waiting behind it, in her perfect make up, in her perfect heels, in her perfect dress. Emma felt just a little dirty, just a little used. Just a little like a disappointment not to have braved Snow to make his more like a date, less like the spoils of the day.

**~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~**

All day. She had waited all day for this. She had surfed the net for recipes; she had discarded and reconsidered the ones she had found. She had decided and changed her outfit. She considered and reconsidered the tone of the night. She had digested the idea of _date_ and discarded it. She had thought about sex and accepted it. And then refused it. She had kept to her schedule and then rebelled against it. She had panicked and calmed down. And then finally settled, thinking that it was not really up to her any way. That Emma would come if she was not detained or changed her mind and that they could perhaps eat something while they were at it and that none of it meant that she was agreeing to have sex with anyone. And that it was perhaps not so bad to have someone stop by the house because even if it was Emma Swan, it meant that she had company. She could learn to fit it into her schedule.

And yet, here she was, by the window, perfectly dressed and made up, using her precious perfume and heels she no longer had any use for, just waiting for the moment Emma would disappoint her. Setting herself up for it, really.

She had not expected this joy in opening her door and seeing the woman walking through it even if she looked a little worn out, a little tired, even a little sad. Holding on to a bunch of happy daisies.

She had never been on a date. No one had ever given her flowers (safe for Henry who used to pick camellias from her garden for mother’s day). And now here Emma was, looking at her with that _luminous_ smile, despite the obvious weight of the day. She had never felt so cherished.

“Thank you”

Emma leaned into her space. “You’re welcome” she said with a breathy kiss against her cheek. It gave her goose bumps. “Smells nice.”

“Roast.” She had to clear her throat. “It’s roast”

“I meant you.”

Regina regretted her decision to eat in the kitchen. She regretted her decision for plain roast. What had she been thinking? Oh, right. She had been thinking that it was not a romantic date. And yet, there was a candle lit on the table. So, so silly.

She walked into the kitchen, Emma trailing behind her.

She should ask now something along the lines of _how was your day_ but it all felt too domestic. Domesticated. When she turned on her heel (perhaps they could have that wine, get a little bit of Dutch courage in her), Emma was sitting gingerly, suppressing a grimace.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m not 18 anymore, that’s what’s wrong.” She dropped the flowers and approached Emma and before she even crouched, she was pulling Emma’s jacket out.

“Hey, I thought you said _No sex_.”

“I did. Now let me see.”

“Well, if there is no sex, why are you trying to get me naked?” “Are you being dim on purpose?”

“Maybe…”

“Ms Swan, so help me, you will show me why you were favouring your side when you sat. Have you been fighting?”

“Not exactly…” Emma relented. She untucked the shirt from the jeans and unbuttoned it.

Regina saw the tear on the material before she saw the wound and her heart did a double take. Her hands wouldn’t move, her mouth was dry and her lungs empty. For a second she was back in that stable. Then she got her wits about her. She was after all, Regina Mills. Whatever that meant. She pulled the shirt to the side and studied the gash- long but superficial - on Emma’s side. She got her first aid kit form the pantry. With care, she disinfected the cut and dressed it. “How about a painkiller?” “Sure. Your bedroom or right here in the kitchen?” Regina actually blushed.

“I meant…”

“Figures… disappointing, though…”

“I can’t.”

“The sex?”

“I’m not trying to play hard to get.”

“No, I believe you. Superpower and all. But you must be interested. Subliminally, at least.” It was said with a smile, that self deprecating smile she was learning to appreciate. But only on Emma.

“If I reconsider…”

“No, don’t reconsider. At least not tonight. Tonight is not a good night. I’m pissed and a little mean. I’d like to do something better. Give you something better. I’d much rather have that roast and ice cream, if you have it. Maybe a movie.”

“We can do a movie. Thank you for the flowers.” She wanted to kiss Emma so badly. Instead, she turned to the oven and served the roast. Almost as good as a kiss.

They moved into the living room after dinner, dishes in the sink, unwashed. And Regina wasn’t even bothered by it. “What do you want to watch?”

“What do you have?”

“A lot. The internet is a wonderful resource. A classic, perhaps?”

“Sure.”

“Casablanca?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“It’s one of my new favourites.”

Emma settled on the deceivingly comfortable couch. “I thought you said it was old.”

“It is” She started the player and the music filled the room. She dimmed the lights and settled next to Emma, not really touching. “I had never watched it before. I have a lot of time now.”

Emma was just tired enough, worn out enough to let it pass. Instead, she pulled Regina to her. “Food, entertainment and affection.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“The three must haves in any date.”

“Who said anything about affection?”

“Evil! I did.” And her hand just did a lazy cruise of Regina’s shoulder. “Affection. Not so bad, huh?”

She would not concede a point. She couldn’t. Not when she wished for Emma’s hands. On her, inside her. Not when she wished for warmth tonight. The fire in her belly, liquid. Her parted lips invited a kiss in a way she was not even aware. A good strong thrust inside her, something. Anything. The human contact she had not missed, not until now. But she would not concede a point. Not until Rick walked away on the wet tarmac of the airport and the music swelled. But by then she didn’t quite know how to ask for it, for that kiss, that touch, that something that would make her feel less disconnected from the world. But she had never really known how to ask for what she wanted, had she?

She stood, unsure of whether Emma would walk to the door or up the stairs.

“Good night, Regina.” She walked to the door.

“Good night, Miss Swan” And her voice was just a little smaller than usual, just a little broken. For all the _nos,_ she now wished she could say _yes_ because that had to be better than the cold in her skin and in her bones she could not quite seem to shake, no matter how many comforters she piled on her bed.

She reached for the door and Emma held her hand before it reached the handle. “I’m missing something.” A kiss, Emma was missing a kiss. _Oh_ was the last thing she coherently thought because after that there was just a blur. A blur of breaths and tastes and hands. Hers on Emma. Emma’s on her torso, on her breasts, on her neck, on her hair. It was all a blur of Emma and her knees trying to give under her.

“Second date, third base. Good night, Regina.”

**~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~**

The night was sleepless, but that was nothing new. The broken routine. That was nothing new. Come one, come all, welcome to Reginaville. For the price of admission, you get the social pariah experience, the self hatred, the obsessive compulsive routine and a splitting headache as a bonus. Come one, come all!

After stiltingly progressing between the morning grooming (carefully disguising the dark circles under her eyes) and the mid morning baking no one would eat, Regina took a break from work. She played solitaire, her go to thing to forget. It kept her from worrying. It nearly kept her from worrying. So she put it aside and tried to get back with the program. She did the laundry. She picked apples. She weeded her garden. Paged through recipes. But she didn’t seem to settle. She couldn’t focus on any one thing until she completed it. It wasn’t like her.

She wished Emma would come. She wished she could be alone. She wished she had not lost track of how to be alone.

She wished she knew what she really wished.

**~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~**

By twilight she had not heard from Emma. Which was fine. It was not like they had a commitment of any sort. Emma had not said anything about a third date. Or about coming over. It was just that she had gotten used to it, to Emma dropping by unannounced with the most ridiculous problems. She was used to fixing things for Henry that would not need fixing had Emma not taken to tearing them apart for her to mend them. She was used to having to bake cookies for more baking sales that any school would ever organise. She was used to hearing about Henry from little _let me get this off my chest_ sighs or _how do you do this_ kind of episodes. One day without Emma was not customary. It was strange. Worrying. Was Emma OK?

The sound of breaking glass echoed through the empty house. The screams of “witch, witch, you’re a bitch” echoed through the walls, reverberated through them, through her heart. It had been a long while since she’d had that fun experience of fearing for her life. Like before, she took the first thing she could grab hold of and walked towards the sound. She walked into her office and the first thing she saw where the projectiles used to break through her windows: her apples. Children shouted from her garden and kept on aiming at the windows, breaking every single pane, destroying her beloved honeycrisp apples in their vandalism. That disregard bothered her more than anything. Narrowly missing the next explosion of glass, she opened the now empty window frames. She wanted to do something, something that would make them stop that _witch, witch, you’re a bitch_. Something that would give them pause for thought, maybe even come up with something more original. But words failed when she saw her garden, her camellias, her honeysuckle defaced by feet, by careless, cruel feet. She simply stood there, a perfect unmoving target the lost boys were already aiming at.

She ducked on time, upset at her own silly reaction. One more apple exploded through the window. _Enough._ Enough, enough, enough. Before she knew it, she was outside and making a grab for the first boy she could reach. “Enough.” All the words, she wanted to say, all the things she wanted to tell, them, all of the curses, everything was stuck in her throat, right behind the knot that just would not move. “Enough” _Enough._

And them Emma was there, chasing the boys, all running in different directions. She grabbed one. Slapped the handcuffs on him to the jeering of the others hidden or scampering through the darkness of the night. She pushed him into the back of her Sheriff’s car.

“Are you OK?”

**~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~**

 

Clearly not. Regina was stuck in her garden in the dark surveying the damage the unwashed miscreants had caused in her obsessively tended garden. It broke Emma’s heart to see it. “I’ll be right back. We’ll fix it, Regina, don’t worry.”

The woman merely nodded with her head, though whether that meant yes or no, Emma was not quite certain.

Her eye caught one of the boys making a slinky run for it. “Seriously? Man, I hate it when they make me run.” She grabbed him in a matter of seconds. “You are deeply stupid, kid, to ruin my night. My shift was over. This is out of office hours” She slapped her spare cuffs form the glove compartment on his bony wrists and pushed him into the back of the car, got into the driving seat. “If you have any working cells in that brain of yours, you are going to remain quiet. Real quiet. And because I’ve had it with you lot of Lost Boys and I can’t ship you all to Never _Fucking_ Land, You are going to get locked up in a Storybrooke jail cell. You are going to be very quiet about it too. Except to name in an official statement your cohorts.”

“What are cohorts?” They snickered in the back of the car, measuring her from the back seat.

Emma was not proud of that moment, not at all, but she did press the brake pedal hard enough to make them slide against the bars between her and the boys. “Any more funny questions?”

She got no reply. Which pleased her.

It took two hours. Two whole hours, but she got the sworn statements. She did not chase after the boys. They were as trapped in Storybrooke as everybody else. There would be time in the morning. Plenty of time.

Right now, her priority was Regina.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Her office was a mess. Apples, glass, all crushed on the hardwood floor. Curtains ripped by the shattering glass, desk ornaments broken on the floor.

It could be worse, she tried to tell herself. These were just things. Just things. No point being angry. Or sad. Or even scared. Nothing had happened. Nothing at all. Just boys being boys. Nothing to see here, ladies and gentlemen, move along. She started collecting the glass, the debris of the apples. Such a waste. Glass carved into her palm. She regarded it with a little interest, a little detachment.

Then Emma rang the door bell, a nervous, impatient ring. And nothing was as bad as before. She opened the door with her hand bleeding, the work of a careless moment. Emma spotted it immediately.

“You’re hurt.”

She wanted to say no, not really, everything is fine. But much to her chagrin, a knot formed in her throat and she could not fall back into her bravado. Not even if it was the thing she wanted the most. Emma took her hand and pulled her to the kitchen where the light was starker, more objective. And immediately regretted it.

The blood was oozing from the cut in Regina’s palm, red, metallic, thick. She tried to be a grown up about it. It was just blood. In the end, she collapsed on a chair. “I’m sorry. I don’t do blood. I hate blood.” And she was sheet white proving her words to Regina.

“It’s just a cut. Just needs cleaning, that’s all. Are you OK? This is not the best place to pass out, right now.”

“No. No, just give me a minute. I don’t like blood.”

“Here,” Regina handed her a glass of water. “Drink.”

“Do you have anything stronger?”

“Some saviour you are… baby.” She cleaned the cut in her palm, struggling only slightly using her left hand.

“Sweetheart.”

“No, I mean you’re acting like a baby.” Regina bristled a little, flustered and concentrated even harder on dressing the wound in her hand.

“I still mean sweetheart. Do you have anything stronger?”

Her hand was throbbing around the cut and Emma was pale as a sheet. And it was probably all her windows broken or her apples smashed on the floor. But it was enough. _Enough_. All the things she wanted came barrelling down from her heart to her mouth, to her hands. She touched Emma’s mouth with hers, slowly at first, gaining resolve, momentum with every touch. It was that moment that there was nothing else to lose. As Emma responded, she gained in courage, in determination and soon there was no throbbing hand, no paleness. Only blood running fast, fast, fast, only a kiss. No fear, no anger, no sadness. Only a kiss. Only a kiss.

“That will do, Regina. That will do just fine” Emma murmured through kiss swollen lips into the shell of her ear. “How about sex now, huh?”

She nodded. _Yes._ Even if her office looked like it had been hit by a hurricane and everything was a mess she could not quite deal with. “Yes.” She switched off the lights in the kitchen and left her shoes by the stairs because there was broken glass stuck to the soles and just because she was about to have sex it did not mean that she should get sloppy. She needed to hold on to the last shards of sanity in her.

Emma followed her up the stairs, quietly. She was giving her time, she knew. Time to panic and call it off. Time to think better of it. Time to change her mind and it would still be OK. She didn’t. She didn’t change her mind because her blood was humming a song of need, something new and welcome in her.

She switched on the light by the bed and closed the drapes, the blinds. Just because that was what she did every night. This would not be so different from every other night. She was just going to have sex. That was all. In the morning, nothing would have changed. She would still be the Evil Queen under house arrest. Emma would still be the Sheriff that had to make sure she did not elope, daughter of her nemesis, mother to her son.

No, nothing would change. She would just pretend to be… normal for a little while. She could let herself be a princess for one night. She could do that. She could because nothing would change afterwards. You could be done with the past, but it rarely was the case that it was don with you.

She sat on the bed and unbuttoned her shirt, her hands trembling slightly. Nothing wrong with that. She’d just had a major fright. That was all. Nothing to do with Emma standing in front of her, studying her with understanding in her expression. No, not that at all.

**~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~**

Emma kneeled before Regina, took her hands in hers and kissed them lightly, the bandaged hand, the sound one and then proceeded to unbutton her shirt, approaching softly like you would a bird not to scare it, not to drive it away. Slowly, she pushed at the material, making an effort not to touch the luminous skin it uncovered. She pulled at the pants and left the pretty underwear. Then she removed her own clothes with simple economic gestures. If Regina needed time, she would give it.

“You are very fit.” Regina stated. But under the coolness of the tone was a slight tremor to her voice.

“So are you.”

“This should be good.”There was trepidation in her tone.

“Yes, it should.” Emma matched Regina’s trepidation with her tenderness. There was something very comforting about knowing what you want, how to get it and that you are about to achieve it. These were all knew things in her life and she intended to enjoy them. “Can I touch you?” At least for this one night.

Regina nodded. It took a conscious effort to stay in the present, to forget about the past. She would be present for this and nothing would take her back. Nothing. She took Emma’s hand and pulled it to her cheek, made it slide to her breast, left it over her heart, anchoring her to the here and now. In her mind she said _yes_ out loud.

Emma took her time. She could do this. She could connect with someone else during sex. She could. The world would not end. It did not end when she trailed tinny light kisses from Regina’s neck to her waist, it did not end when she studied the curve of the hipbone with tongue. No, the world did not come to an end when she studied Regina for signs of distress, it did not threaten Armageddon when all that was important was that Regina had not gone somewhere bad in her mind as it had looked like a moment or two ago. The world remained firmly in place when she didn’t rush to orgasm and call it a night. Quite the contrary. It remained exactly as where she wanted to be.

As it remained in place when Regina lay back on her bed and opened herself up like a flower to her eyes, to her touch, to her breath. Or when studied the muscles and the skin and the bones underneath with her mouth, her fingers, her breath, her nose. There was a challenge in those dark, dark eyes, to leave, to make a run for it, to abandon. Instead, Emma rose to the bed and stretched, matching a leg for a leg, an arm for an arm, a mouth for a mouth as if they were mirrors of each other. Her hands set out to map new territories, to discover new skin, to claim new hills and vales and plains.

She studied intensely, concentrated. She studied hard until she could say that she knew Regina by heart. And have it be true.

She studied until her own skin burned and ached, until the need was too great not to be heeded. Until she could do nothing but sate that hunger, to turn Regina back to her because she needed that moment when Regina would feel her inside. Oh, god, she needed that more than breathing. She needed to see the moment Regina felt her stake her claim and surrendered. Much like she needed to drink up the little sound torn from Regina’s throat, a scream, a moan, a shudder. For a moment she might have forgotten to breathe, her fingers a frenzy, a blur of movement, in, out, in, her mouth hungry for Regina’s very breath, desperate for the moment, that spark of time she could feel in Regina’s body was fast approaching, the pressure increasing, the muscles contracting, the heart beating accelerated to the culmination when those exquisite black eyes snapped open in shock or agony or bliss. Maybe all at the same time.

It was like nothing Emma had ever seen. Emma was the kind that closes her eyes. But when she wanted to pull their bodies together and simply feel the aftershocks running through her body in sympathy, Regina pulled her into a kiss and manoeuvred her onto her back, into the realm of pure feeling. Her clever little fingers did things Emma had not thought possible, stroking, hitting, charming, coaxing incoherent mumbles out of her, stroking, hitting, charming, coaxing a shiver, a shake, a wave. Clever little fingers that made her beg to stop, beg for more, beg for something she wasn’t quite sure what it was. Except, perhaps, to do this forever. Clever little fingers that rose her to a high where she could only break, explode, scatter. “Such clever little fingers” she said as she sucked them clean and pulled Regina into her, because she might just pass out and there was no way she wanted to wake up alone.

“I need some water.” In her post orgasmic haze, it took Emma a second to process the hitch in Regina’s voice or even the fact that there was a glass of water placed on the bedside table. In her post orgasmic bliss, it was just a pity that Regina had walked out of bed and headed out of the room. Even if she had done so naked. In her post orgasmic bliss, the kind that made her want to stay and cuddle, it took Emma a second to process that something was not quite right.

She put on a robe from the foot of the bed and grabbed a silk throw and followed down the stairs. It scared her more than anything she had done before because she did not do intimacy after sex. That was not her thing. Because that was well into _relationship_ territory and that was something she was not equipped to deal with.

It helped that all was dark. But even in the darkness of the kitchen, she could see Regina by the sink, her shoulders tense with effort, her hands grabbing hold of the stone sink. Not a sound coming out of her, not even breathing. Something was not quite right.

Padding in the cold stone tile, Emma walked silently to her and called out _Regina_ softly, softly, afraid to startle her.

“Can I help you, Miss Swan?” Ah, the default attack stance, the one Regina used when she was the most rattled. And still she wouldn’t turn.

“Regina…” Emma draped the silk throw over Regina’s shoulders slowly turning that into an embrace of sorts, something loose and non-threatening. And when there was no resistance, she pulled her closer to her, back into her chest and closed the silk around Regina’s chest. In the soft light cast by a small sliver of the waning moon, she could see wet brown eyes, startled, uncertain.

“I just need a moment, Miss Swan. Emma”

“Ok.” And she tightened her hold. A moment for both of them. A moment to settle.

She spoke eventually, soon after she let her body melt into Emma’s. “It’s been a long time, for me, Emma. I am not sure how to react. What to do now. It wasn’t like this. Not before… I would like it to be different now.”

“What are you aiming for?”

“Normal. I just want normal.” There was no stopping, it seemed, the tears that just wanted to fall, fall, fall. She wanted normal and it scared her deeply that she might just get it. And get it with Emma Swan of all people. _Of all the gin joints in all the world and you had to walk into mine._ She might just get what everybody else had. Home made love, without the power games and the punishments and rewards that were the only things she knew about it.

“Come on, let’s do _normal_.” Emma asked and pulled her into her. “Laying down in bed normal. Together, naked and sweaty.” She steered them up the stairs. “Compliment each other. I have never seen anything so beautiful as you cumming, Regina.” She pushed open the bedroom door as if this was her home and Regina a guest that needed reassurance. “Sleeping together after the fact. That’s normal too.” And carefully, she pushed her into the bed, pulled her legs up and slid into bed behind Regina. Holding her, or holding on to her, if she looked closely.

“I don’t do that. I sleep alone.” Emma silenced her with a kiss before she tucked her into her side. “What do you know about normal?” She didn’t mean it like that, not as an accusation. “I just… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean it like that…”

“Nothing at all. But I’m a quick learner.”

Regina’s reply was eloquent: she snuggled against Emma.

“I wish you could pick me up and take me out on a date. I wish I had ugly pets that you had to be nice to and parents that you had to impress before we were out of the house.” She sniffled once, settled in, nuzzled against Emma’s naked warm shoulder. “Is it normal to want to make out in the back seat of a car? And then try to sneak back in. Normal like that.”

“I suppose pretty normal for a 16 year old. What kind of book club did you join?” Emma turned on her side, finding and settling in a better position to kiss Regina. “The Mills and Boon?” She dispensed soft cheeky kisses along the shoulder closest to her. “We’ll figure it out, Regina. You know what else is normal? You making me pancakes in the morning.”

“Is that normal for you?”

“No. But while we’re doing our wish list…”

**~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~**

Regina woke up and it felt a lot like the first morning she woke up in Storybrooke: as if everything was strange and new and full of promise. She looked at the alarm and it was 10 in the morning. She had never- never in her life- slept that late. And she had slept. Really slept. And then there was a travel mug filled with what proved to be coffee- black just the way she always took it. And a note tacked to it, with a crude flower drawn on it, coloured with what had to be her red lipstick that said _Had to go, sorry I missed the pancakes._

So she made pancakes. It was silly, but she made pancakes. And then realised she could not take them to the Sheriff’s Office. It had never struck her that clearly that she was living at the mercy of others. Never so clearly. But the pancakes were done and there was a delivery service she could use and pancakes in the morning were Emma’s normal.

She had never smiled quite so openly as when Emma called, munching on the pancakes to say _thank you._

**~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~**

They were in a relationship. Emma took a deep breath. _Relationship._ It was one of those words that terrify. Sort of like _Earthquake_ or _Tsunami_ or _Flash flood_. _Relationship._ Yep. Terrifying.

**~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~**

She took off her shoes by the door. Regina had her trained like a puppy. Shoes by the door, jacket in the closet under the stairs. Trained like a pup. And she didn’t mind it one bit. She liked it. She liked the constancy, the dependability.

“Honey, I’m home!” She hollered from the door, just because it irked Regina. The _honey_ , the barging in, the hollering. She could not resist those little pinpricks that made Regina less sedate, more like the firecracker she used to be. One of these days, she would make her say it, she would. The things that you miss are, for the most part, just honest to god weird. She wanted to hear _Your have no idea what I’m capable of._ Just because she missed the tone, the snark. She missed the strength of the woman.

“In the garden…”

In the garden, indeed, with a glass of wine and barefoot. Regina was in the garden, with a glass of wine and barefoot. No routine cleaning, no carefully planned manoeuvre to avoid certain places of the house at very specific times. Regina was just sitting, her legs stretched in the dying sun, sipping wine. “Your Majesty!” She curtsied and in the motion, snatched the glass of wine. “Hum, nice. Let’s order pizza?”

“No, thanks. I’ve got soufflé.”

“Even better.” Emma quipped between sips.

“I did not invite you.” Regina snatched the glass. She was in a good mood. It surprised her. The good mood surprised her every time. As it did the need to needle Emma back. It was a game they played, afraid to lose the practice.

“Oh, we’re _way_ past that.”

“Why on earth would we be past manners, Ms Swan?”

“Because we are in a _relationship_ ” She accented it with the most tenebrous of tones.

Regina stood and finished the wine. “I don’t know how to be past that.” The glass clinked menacingly into the stone sink. “And we are not in a _relationship_.” She stopped short of the air quotes. That was for people who did not know how to use voice inflection.

Emma followed her inside. She always did anyway. Trained like a damned puppy. “Past manners or relationship? This looks great.” And it did, all puffy and fluffy and light and perfect, simply because Regina would not have it any other way.

"Both. And you are changing the subject. That is not as confrontational as you usually are. But it is effective.”

“There you go: see how good you are at reading people? I bet this tastes as good as it smells.”

“Not _people_. Just you. And that, that non confrontational streak you’ve developed is infuriating.”

“I know. I make up for it by being so pretty, don’t I?”

“Emma, you are not that pretty.”

Emma laughed. “I like you, Regina. I really do. And we are in a relationship. Affection. Entertainment. Food. On a continued basis. Look it up. Old Webster’s definition of _relationship.”_

With Regina you had to pick your victories like raspberries: carefully, between the thorns. The silent sigh was a victory. That was why the capitulation was so unexpected it was weird. “I like the way you say my name. You say it different.”

“How different?”

“Like it is safe in your mouth. Like I’m safe.” And then she took a serving spoon form its allotted spot in the regimented cutlery drawer and proceeded to serve Emma a generous portion of that lovely soufflé as if she had not just changed everything without even using the right nouns and adjectives and verbs.

Like sweet raspberries, the victories. Sweet, sweet raspberries

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5- Epilogue**

It had been a long while since the bug had gotten an overall of this nature. But she was a little nervous and the wax on/wax off would have made Mr Miyagi proud. It helped her centre herself which was not something she usually felt the need to do. She was not the karate type. She was more of a wrestling kind of girl.

She got wine and, on an impulse, a corsage. She raided Snow’s cupboards until she found a blanket. And then enlisted Henry. It seemed she was all set.

**~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~**

She opened the door with the key Regina kept under the welcome mat. She figured that if that was not the point of having a spare so poorly hidden, Regina would have figured out something better.

With the shower safely running upstairs, she quickly finished what she’d come for and then let herself out equally silently.

Everything was in position and she could not help it but feel at least a little proud of herself.

**~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~**

The door bell startled Regina. Something was up. Why would someone come to her door at this time of night (or any other time, really)? Emma was supposed to come in for one of their _dates_ , but she always used the spare to let herself in. It was insufferable of her, just barging in like that. Which did not explain why she had not yet removed the key. It was not like she was going out running the risk of needing it.

She opened the door and on the other side was Emma. In a suit of good cut that fitted her like a glove, from the jacket to the pressed pants. The shirt opened to reveal the swell of her breasts and a soft perfume that she could feel when Emma moved to kiss her on the lips. Lipstick. Emma had lipstick and in the light of the porch it gave her, together with the mascara and eye shadow, the general look of a girl trying desperately to look older.

“You clean up nice, Sheriff. What’s the occasion?”

“It occurs to me that we never had a proper date.”

“Now you hurt my feelings.”

“Oh?”

“Coffee and bear claws; dinner, movie and third base, thrashed office and sex.” She could not quite finish that word, because Emma had her hand- with red nail polish- over her mouth.

“Don’t say stuff like that out loud. Someone might hear you.”

There was flash of hurt in Regina’s eyes. “Who?”

“Are you going to invite me in or did I do something wrong already?”

“You usually are quite good at inviting yourself in, Miss Swan.”

“Today is special, Ms Mills.”

“And why is that?”

Emma pulled the corsage from behind her back. “As I was saying, it occurred to me that I never took you on a real date.”

“And I thought I had demolished that argument. Tell me Miss Swan, am I losing my grasp of the English language? Or do I need to remind you of the house arrest situation?”

“No. On both counts. But here’s the thing: I have made many wildly inappropriate suggestions. Pushed for nudity. There was even S-E-X. Real good S-E-X. But I never took you on a real date. A normal date. Or a sixteen year old normal kind of date.”

“It’s touching, Miss Swan, the sentiment, but I am forced to remind you of one fundamental hurdle: House Arrest.”

“Regina, I got you into bed. Do you honestly doubt my resourcefulness?”

No. She didn’t. And it had nothing to do with their bedroom activities. Or kitchen or sofa or everywhere else, really, and more to do with the space Emma had carved in their lives for this. “No.”

“Good.” And she again pushed the corsage into Regina. For a moment she second guessed herself. It looked a little like a purple and white boulder (despite the roses she had finally managed to get) she was asking Regina to wear on her wrist, complete with silk ribbons and the whole old fashioned nine yards. “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t like it.” _Great timing for self doubt, Swan._

As a reply, Regina simply offered her wrist. Emma tied the ribbon and placed a chaste kiss on the pulse point that made Regina dizzy. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” She took the key. It seemed that she would need it after all. And when she was actually about to leave, a voice resonated from behind her.

“And where do you think you’re going, young lady?”

She didn’t turn towards the voice because it was impossible that it was coming from inside her house. But Emma was just standing there with an expectant smile on her face and making no move to leave. And when she did turn, she was paralysed because it could be a hallucination, a projection of her mind. Only it was not, because the lights in the foyer came on and Henry was there in a suit and tie, a pipe in his hand and huge chequered slippers on his feet.

“Well? I am waiting for an explanation, young lady. Where do you think you’re going, sneaking off like that in the middle of the night?”

Her vision swam. Emma held her up with one firm hand on her elbow. _Henry._ She wanted to run to him and hold him but it was miracle sufficient that he was there in her house.

“We’re just going out on a date, Mr Mills” Emma supplied. “I promise I’ll bring her back early.”

Waltzing right into the spirit, Henry pointed his index at Emma and walked her into the wall. “See that you do!”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Regina,” He approached his mother, his face scrunched up in a serious scowl. “I want you home before midnight” The effect was only slightly lost by the look he gave Emma for confirmation of the script and her discrete nod of confirmation. “Behave”

She knew she should keep in character, but the only thing she wanted at that moment was to pull him to her and just lose herself in her child. Her silence stretched while she struggled for composure.

“He can also double as an ugly pet.” Regina could not help that smile despite the tears that threatened. “Henry, ugly pet.” Emma mock ordered.

“Don’t push it, Emma.” It was such a serious threat in his face that he could only have gotten it from Regina. Dropping the act, he approached Regina. “Go have fun, mom. I’ll be here in the morning.” She couldn’t help it. She put her arms around him and just hugged him, her heart beating wildly in her chest. She didn’t want to let go. What if he changed his mind? What if he wanted to leave? What if he wasn’t ready? What if he regretted it? “Mom.” He cupped her cheek with his hand. “I’ll be here.”

 

**~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~**

Regina was holding onto Henry as if she would not let go. And even Henry, ever the cool customer, was enjoying the embrace. Oh, she could see the signs, the antsy little foot starting to move and the hand already thinking of other pursuits. But he was a good kid. And he missed Regina. She should have done this a long time ago. Given him the chance to come over. Given Regina this.

But she too was a little jealous. It seemed she too could hold on too tight. She too wanted each of them just for herself. Even if for just a little while.

Regina let go. She did not wait for Henry to push her away. She stood and it was like nothing had happened. She put her hand in Emma’s arm and let herself be guided out of the house.

“Oh, and Emma?” They stopped on their tracks because that was Daddy Henry’s voice. “I know how to spell sex. I’m eleven, not illiterate. Have fun.”

**~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~**

She had a corsage in her wrist, a hand in Emma’s arm and her child in her house. It didn’t matter if they only went to a 7-Eleven. “This is the best date ever.”

That stopped Emma. “Thanks. But let’s pretend for a little while that we are still beginning our night.” She pecked her lips softly. “I can’t really take you out… they wouldn’t let me. But…” And then she was pulling to go around the house, across the manicured garden, into the back yard pitched into darkness, safe from the yellow of the street lights. “Wait here.”

She moved cat-like in the darkness. And then with a soft movement of her hand, yards of garlands of red fairy lights came on, illuminating the garden in a soft warm light, hugging trees and bushes. Centre-stage, a picnic blanket with a basket and a bottle of wine, crystal glasses, lit candles. Emma looked at her, expectantly, waiting for a verdict.

Regina walked to her. Scratch that. Regina sauntered to her, all feline grace. She stopped with her body flush to Emma.

“Thank you” She whispered by Emma’s ear, her mouth seeking her out for a kiss that, when it happened, was warm, then hot, then blistering. Left her wowing, struggling to breathe. Wondering if it was always going to be like this. “For… everything.”

“How grateful will you be if there is music?”

Regina’s reply was quick and to the point. She cupped Emma’s sex and her finger did a quick little demonstration that left Emma in dire need to sit. Taking a deep breath, she hit yet one more switch and a small player came alive with music. “Very.”

“Be sure to tell me if there is anything else you would thank me for.”

Regina’s grin was wicked. “I will.”

“Shall we sit?”

“Yes, please.” Gallantly, Emma helped Regina into the blanket and reached for the wine and bottle opener. She seemed to have lost all coordination because there was no way the cork was coming out. It flustered her. Regina took pity and the wine out of her hands and deftly opened it.

“I’d say _butch up a little_ , but I like the outfit.” She poured the first glass. “And the perfume. You look good enough to eat.” She was rewarded by a self conscious smile from Emma.

“That’s good to know. If you don’t like the menu we can live on love, then.”

Regina was more than a little startled by the word, but this was a date and for tonight, she felt like a princess and princesses were entitled to love and fairy lights.

“Well, let’s see what’s for dinner, then. And I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You know I don’t cook, right?”

“We can’t all be perfect, dear.”

“Good to know.” She handed Regina a pink pastry box. “I figured this would be better than food poisoning.”

Bear claws. She tried to stifle a giggle. She wasn’t sure she had ever giggled before. That had been taken out of her, but now it burst forward, unheeded. “It’s a good menu, dear. Though I’d thought we would be both past the need for surrogate endorphins from deep fried complex carbohydrates.”

“We can just get fat, then.”

“Or we can work it out later.”

“Or that.”

“Bon appétit” Regina removed the pastry from the box and bit into it. “There is just no way to eat this elegantly, is there?” She put the glass of wine down on the blanket and looked around for napkins.

“No. But that’s not the point of pastry.”

“Pastry has a point?” She was stilled in her search by a tongue cleaning the syrup running down her fingers. She wasn’t quite sure if it was the syrup or the tongue or the night, only that she had no idea her fingers could be connected to her centre in that manner where that licking pulled at every single one of the muscles in her core as certainly as if she had been touched there. “I guess it doesn’t need one.”

“Glad you agree” Emma sipped from her glass of wine as if nothing happened, except now Regina knew her tells well enough to know she was as affected as she herself was. Just as flushed, just that much warmer. Just as bothered. “Or we can fall back into the original plan and just get fat.”

“I have great metabolism. I don’t get fat.” “You have great everything.”

It seemed that her hearing was also connected to her core. Because it just kept on pulsing as sure as if she was being stroked.

**~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~**

“Come” Emma stood and pulled Regina up to her. “All those movies you’ve been watching… Have you watched Witness?”

“No…”

“Good…This will be more original that way.” She ducked into her bug, hidden in the cover of the night and Regina’s trees and switched on the headlights and the garden was bathed in light.

“You brought your car into my garden.” It seemed like a telling off was in the cards.

“You asked to make out in the back seat of car.” Emma pressed play on the brand new player in her car, increased the volume and waited for the first notes of _My Girl._ “If you cannot go to the mountain, the mountain will have to come to you, Princess.”

“It’s a puny little mountain.”

“Hey, you fantasise like a 16 year old. Do you know any 16 year olds who drive Volvos or Mercedes with spacious back seats?” Regina shook her head, hands behind her back, haloed by the headlights of the bug.

Emma walked around the beaten (but polished) old car and stopped in front of Regina. “Would you care to dance?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“I was building up to it.” Regina’s hand slid into hers and it was such a perfect fit. “I don’t really dance.”

“You’re doing just fine.” And surprisingly, she had not yet stepped on a single toe, made a wrong move. Regina brought out her best moves.

“I could see through your dress a while ago.” “Did you enjoy the view?”

“I always do.” It was funny how Regina seemed to be taller today, how she seemed to fill in her skin a bit better, be stronger. Emma snuggled into her shoulder _I guess you’d say, what can make me feel this way? My girl._ Emma sang along softly.

“That’s probably one of the sappiest songs I’ve ever heard.”

“Probably. But you like it.”

“It’s possible.” Emma tightened her hold a bit more. She was a closet romantic. And if anyone asked her from now on, this was her favourite song. And it wasn’t only because Regina’s fingers were running through her hair, it wasn’t only because of the soft breathing in her ear, or even the soft shiver that went through Regina’s body.

“Are you cold?” It was because it was a sappy love song and even if she had never given herself the time to be sappy or romantic, this was actually what she had been missing all her life and had come home to find. Right here.

**~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~**

“A little.” Or it might just that her body was so alive that dancing was living this moment too slowly. Emma opened the door and showed her in, sliding in next to her on the old leather seats.

“I cleaned it up”

“Thank you. That’s considerate.”

“I only mentioned it because you say _thank you_ in the best ways.”

“Indeed” And she started a lazy glide of her tongue over Emma’s lips. She added a little tongue, a little pressure. Gratified by Emma’s melting response, she slid further into Emma’s space and let her hand travel down Emma’s torso, stopping when she detected an erect nipple, scratching lightly over the material of the shirt.

“That’s going straight to third base.”

“Any objections?”

“None that come to mind.” Emma mumbled between kisses, her body arching into the touch, her breath catching in her chest.

“That’s a good sign.” She manoeuvred Emma into a reclined position, aiming for the zipper of the pants, but her elbow hit the front seat and she had no space to move and still the damned zipper remained firmly closed, denying her. “This is a very odd arrangement”

“Your fantasy, not mine.” but Emma did not break the contact, because it was a life line. Even if she was laughing at Regina’s cross face and even if her body wanted nothing more than Regina’s hands on her more than she could remember needing anything else.

“It is a very small car.”

“It should turn you on to know that it is fully paid.” “Many lifetimes over, I’d hazard.”

“Come here, let me show you how this is done.” And she pulled Regina into her lap, her hands making quick work of the skirt of the dress, pushing it up, up, up, leaving lipstick marks across Regina’s neck, white in the moonlight. Her hands sought out the underwear and pushed at it, inexorable, until she could meet flesh, warm and pliant, flushed and eager. Regina’s hands darted around, trying to find purchase, the ceiling, the seat. Emma’s shoulders. A mouth sought out her breast and she was so close, so, so close.

“Should I be taking notes?”

“Only if you intend on doing this in a car again.” And if Regina wanted to do this again, she would push the car into the garden again and she would take that stupid spring in her back again, all because that would be what Regina wanted. Her brow pearled with perspiration, the effort of holding back, because she needed to be touched too, but it was dam near impossible and it was out of the question to interrupt, not when Regina looked like joy undiluted.

“Emma” The sound was strangled in her throat. Emma encouraged her, coaxed the words out of her, with her mouth, with her skin, with her breath. “Don’t break my heart. Please.”

Emma stilled for a second. This would be where the panic would set in. Instead she heard herself say “I love you”. And dam if it was not the honest to god truth. So damned strange. “I love you”. Regina’s hands griped her shoulders and slid around her neck and that was how she came, around fingers that could not quite move for the shock of the realisation, around words that were, for the lack of better definition, the truth.

“Emma.”

“I know. I’m shocked too. Go easy on me, please.”

Regina’s fingers traced her eyebrows, her lips, her hairline, the shell of her ear. Gingerly, because she learned her lessons well, she moved from Emma and pulled her to sit in her lap, back against her chest. Her hand sneaked inside the pants, damn the zipper, she had just enough space and agility. Her breathing in Emma’s ear caused a shiver to run through them both. “I know I’m not the easiest person to trust… but I… I‘ll take care of you. If you let me.” Her fingers sought out the wet warmth and in one sweep motion, she had Emma tethering at the edge.

Emma nodded. She went from being all alone to having so many people. To having Regina, her perfect counterpoint. “Can you love me?” Emma asked, just before one more swipe of the finger against that tight bundle made the world explode.

“You have no idea what I’m capable of, Emma.” And to prove it, her fingers dipped inside and with a _come for me_ whispered in her ear, a second wave of orgasm was demanded of her, leaving her limp, at Regina’s tender mercy.

“You do have a competitive streak, don’t you?”

**~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~SQ~**

Emma had planned on sneaking in. Just to keep with the programme, but her legs seemed incapable of obeying. They could have gone in through the kitchen or the garage door. God knew it was just there. But a date was date. She straightened her clothes as much as she could and gave her arm to Regina. Together they walked to the front door.

“Do I get a good night kiss?”

“I think you played your cards well enough that I may even ask you in.”

“That’s good to know. I’m looking forward to a walk of shame.”

They pushed through the door in a haste of shoes and jackets dropped and arms tangled and tongues in impossible embraces. When they reached the first step of the stairs, Henry was sitting, fast asleep, wrapped in a blanket, holding on to a card board that said in bold letters that he seemed to have inherited from Regina.

“In case I fell asleep:

_What time do you call this, young lady?”_

Regina looked at Emma. _Thank you_ , she mouthed in the dark foyer. _Thank you_ and she took Henry in her arms. Her little boy was not so little anymore. One of these days she would not be able to pick him up. But for tonight she could. Tonight she could do anything. She took him to his bed and left the night light on, only to be able to hold on to the illusion that he was still her baby. “I love you right up to the moon- and back.” Still the baby she read stories to. She closed the door softly and Emma was waiting for her, at the door of her bedroom.

“Are we done with the Mills & Boon fantasy?”

“I like this reality.” She slid into Emma as if it came easy to her. “Miss Swan? I do, you know?”

“What?”

“Love you.”

 

 

 

 

 

The  end

 


End file.
